


What I See

by Synekdokee



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Fluff, Hank Big, M/M, Romance, Smut, roleplaying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-27 04:41:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18189890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/pseuds/Synekdokee
Summary: Based on Taylor's succinct and eloquent Tweet:"HUMAN HANK RPing HK800 IN BED FOR CONNOR AAAAAAAAAAAHHHH"That's it. That's the whole fic.





	What I See

**Author's Note:**

  * For [DyingNoises](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DyingNoises/gifts), [and @rile_sumo](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=and+%40rile_sumo).



“Hank, what’s this?”

Hank looks up from his crossword, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he squints.

“Oh. I forgot to tell you - it’s for the stupid precinct Halloween party you insisted we attend.”

Connor looks at the tiny ring pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

“It’s an adhesive LED,” he says, still audibly confused.

Hank smirks, going back to his puzzle. “Just you wait,” he says enigmatically. Connor purses his lips, staring at him and waiting for him to elaborate, but Hank acts like he’s not even there. Although there is a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

 

A week later Connor is standing in front of the mirror in the bedroom, questioning his decision to attend the party. He’s covered his LED with skintape and concealer (which he’d been scandalised at how expensive such a small tube had been) and forgone his usual work suit and replaced it with a blue flannel shirt and fitting jeans. He fiddles with the collar of shirt, trying to tuck it under his black pleather jacket.

He turns to see himself from the left side, judging. He doesn’t look much different - more casual out of a suit, dressed more similar to the manner the human detectives at work dress themselves. Still, he feels… misplaced. It feels like a slight betrayal to pass as a human even for fun. He’s never been ashamed of his android status, never wished he could pass for human in his real life, but looking at his LED-less face he feels oddly like a fraud. Like he’s trying to be something he’s not.

The thoughts evaporate when Hank walks in. Connor spins around, his jaw going slack.

“Hank-” he chokes out, taking in the sight of Hank standing in the doorway. His hair is combed back and tied up into a short pony tail, a completely new look on him. That’s not all though - he’s wearing a copy of Connor’s old CyberLife jacket, in slightly paler grey, and on his temple, glowing a steady blue…

“So that’s what the LED was for,” Connor says weakly, stepping closer. Hank fidgets with his hands before stuffing them in his pockets.

“What do you think?” He asks, voice a little tight. “It’s not… culturally insensitive or anything, is it?” He gestures vaguely at the fluorescent triangle.

Connor lets out a surprised laugh. “No, in fact I think it’s very subversive, I-” He pauses, staring.

“What?” Hank asks, shifting on his feet. “Did I fuck up? I thought it’d be funny, ya know, former anti-android grouch dressing up as an android…” He trails off, looking uncertain.

Connor walks up to him, putting his hand on Hank’s sternum, over his black tie. “No, you look great. I’m just… trying to adjust to the shift,” he laughs. He notices the writing on Hank’s right breast, and he traces it lightly with his fingers.

“HK-800,” he murmurs.

“Thought it’d be funny,” Hank repeats quietly. Connor smiles.

“Hm. Does that mean you were made to be my companion piece?”

Hank laughs and wraps an arm around Connor’s waist loosely, holding him near.

“Maybe. Now we’ll match-” he stops, peering at Connor’s temple. “Where’s your LED?” Only then does he seem to notice the uncharacteristic flannel shirt Connor is wearing.

“The fuck are you supposed to be?” he asks, mouth turned down in confusion.

“I’m a human,” Connor says brightly. Hank’s role swap has made him feel better about this, and he pulls out his detective badge hanging around his neck. “See?”

Hank laughs, taking the badge and turning it in his hand. “Huh, guess we matched up unintentionally,” he says, his tone pleased. “Imagine that.”

Connor beams at him, knowing full well he probably looks a little smitten. He doesn’t mind - there’s an answering softness in Hank’s eyes.

 

The costumes are a hit - people seem to get a kick out of the notion of a human Connor, and Hank gets to be as stoic and sarcastic as he likes under the guise of acting as a cool and efficient investigative android. He pokes fun at Connor by preening at every available reflective surface, and Connor returns fire by putting on his moodiest, most-sweary persona.

Reed goes near apoplectic at them both, so confused over whether to be more enraged at a human playing an android or an android pretending to be a human that he nearly collides into Captain Fowler while mid-rant, and shuts his mouth with a snap before slinking away with his tail between his legs. As far as Connor is concerned, it’s the highlight of the evening.

That is, after Hank. In the end it’s easy to slide into the game of Hank the android. Connor calls him HK-800 and tells him to not be gross and put things in his mouth. Hank flushes bright red, but maintains his collected composure.

The thing is that Connor has never seen Hank looking so put-together. The jacket and the tie and the crisp white shirt make him look very sharp, the cut angles of his clothes emphasising Hank’s large frame and physical confidence. With his hair not hanging in his face Connor can admire him freely - Hank, who always seems to use his hair to hide himself a little, now so casually on display. His beard has been trimmed a little too, and Connor gets a small jolt of satisfaction from thinking that perhaps he’s part of the reason for Hank being comfortable with displaying himself this way.

“What?” Hank says towards the end of the evening, when Connor has stopped pretending he can keep his eyes off him.

“Nothing. You’re very handsome,” Connor says happily, and Hank snorts.

“Don’t laugh,” Connor insist, leaning in to press a kiss to Hank’s cheek. “You look very dapper.”

“Dapper?” Hank laughs, throwing an arm over Connor’s shoulders and tucking him against his side. “You know, that might the first time that word has been applied to me.”

Connor hums, turning to press up against Hank. “You should wear a suit more often,” he says, voice pitched a little low as he tugs lightly on Hank’s tie.

“Is that so?” Hank murmurs, a familiar gleam lighting up in his blue eyes. Connor’s thirium pump stutters, and he itches to put his arms around Hank and kiss him senseless.

In fact…

“Do you… want to go home now?” he asks.

Hank doesn’t even bother glancing at his watch, barely waits a beat before uttering a heartfelt, “Yes.”

 

They manage to keep things somewhat decent in the taxi. Connor curls up under Hank’s arm and they trade slow, almost chaste kisses, Connor caressing Hank’s face with reverence. He’ll never get tired of touching Hank, putting his hands on every inch of him, feeling how wonderfully human and alive he is.

He’ll always remember how close he came to losing Hank, that night when he faced down his own copy. Connor is grateful for every moment he gets to spend with Hank, yet he’s always aching for more. Keeping himself from climbing into Hank’s lap in the car is a nigh-impossible mission, but if there’s something Connor is good at it’s self control.

But the moment they’re through the front door, with Sumo trying to trip them up, the pace changes. Connor grabs Hank by the lapels of his jacket and pulls him against himself, leaning back against a wall.

“I want-” he starts, and then stops, biting his lip.

Hank raises an eyebrow, his cheeks a little flushed. “What’s going on? You’re never shy about what you want.”

Connor smooths his hands down Hank’s chest, his eyes falling on the white lettering.

“What if… what if I want HK-800?” He whispers, unable to look Hank in the eye.

Hank goes still for a moment, hands on Connor’s elbows. Then he lets out a thoughtful sound.

“Well… Detective Anderson,” he says, and Connor’s stomach flutters at the thought of being called that. If he’d take Hank’s last name-

The thought is interrupted by Hank leaning in close, nudging his nose against the shell of Connor’s ear.

“I sense elevated stress levels,” he murmurs softly, warm breath fanning across Connor’s skin. “Perhaps it would be beneficial if you allowed me to help you decompress.”

“I don’t sound like that,” Connor says, feeling a little out of sync.

“I’m sorry, detective, but I must insist we move this into the sleeping quarters,” Hank says, completely deadpan, and Connor lets out a sound he’s ashamed to admit could be filed under “a giggle.” Then he pulls himself together and tilts his head up, giving Hank his best glare.

“I don’t need a damn tin-can ordering me around,” he says haughtily. “If you think you can just-” he breaks off into a yelp when Hank suddenly leans down and sweeps him off his feet, one arm hooked around Connor’s back, the other under his knees.

Connor clings to him, a little alarmed - Hank is strong, has lifted him off his feet before, but never carried him for any length of time. He remembers his role, and gives a half-hearted struggle.

“Put me down, you over-priced toaster,” he demands, trying to keep himself from laughing.

“HK-800” ignores him. Connor can sense Hank’s pulse pick up a little from the strain, but Hank remains steady on his feet as he carries Connor into to bedroom. He only falters a little when he lays Connor down, but it doesn’t matter, as Connor throws his arms around Hank’s neck and drags him down on top of him.

“You’re incredible,” Connor breathes, breaking character and kissing Hank hungrily.

“I’m pleased to hear I am performing up to my manufacturing standards,” Hank says, voice a little breathy. Connor feels Hank’s erection pressed against his hip, and a jolt of arousal courses through him.

“Please, Hank,” Connor groans, wrapping his legs around Hank’s hips. “Please.”

“How may I be of service?” Hank says, his voice cracking into laughter, and Connor’s whole body feels charged up at the sound of it. He loves Hank, he loves, loves, loves.

“Fuck me, isn’t that what you were made for,” Connor demands, tugging on Hank’s jacket. Hank tilts his head up, peering down at Connor.

“This is really buttering your toast, huh?” He says, looking a little poleaxed.

“You acting so proud and cocky and dressed all… like that?” Connor asks incredulously, waving his hand vaguely at Hank. “ _Yes_.”

“Huh,” Hank says, and then he sits up, straddling Connor’s hips, his weight pinning Connor down.

“I think,” he says, voice gone so very even and unaffected again, “that it’s best you allow me to take care of you, Detective.”

“Oh?” Connor says weakly, palms on Hank’s strong thighs. “Is… is that your mission objective, HK-800?”

Hank smirks, beginning to undo Connor’s shirt. “It is. And you shouldn’t try to stop me,” he purrs, leaning in close to mouth at Connor’s exposed collar. “I always accomplish my mission.”

Something in Connor shudders, sending a low charge of electricity through him.

“Yes, sir,” he murmurs, reaching his hands to Hank’s belt buckle.

He doesn’t expect Hank to grab his wrists and pin them against the pillow over his head.

“Please, detective,” Hank says, voice low and gravelly. “I insist you follow my instructions.”

Connor swallows and nods, and Hank gives him an approving smile. He leaves one large hand on Connor’s wrists while he continues unbuttoning his shirt, pushing it open to reveal Connor’s bare chest.

“You’re quite pale,” he tsks. “I recommend more sunshine for you,” he says, and then leans down to press a kiss to Connor’s sternum. He slides his hands down Connor’s arms, down to his sides, tracing the facsimile of ribs under the synthetic skin and muscle. His beard scratches along Connor’s belly as he kisses his way down.

“Lower, please,” Connor asks, and Hank obeys, undoing Connor’s jeans quickly and pushing them down to his thighs. Connor kicks them off and struggles out of his shirt, laying naked and exposed under Hank. He enjoys it, the sight of Hank still clothed, large and strong above him. Him cock is hardening against his belly, and when Hank leans down to press a kiss to the bump of his hip-bone, it gives an interested twitch.

“Why, detective,” Hank says, tone surprised. “You’re supposed to be relaxing, this can’t be good for your blood pressure.”

Connor laughs, and shuts his mouth when Hank shoots him a glare. He bites his lip, watching Hank curl his palm around his dick and give it a few slow strokes.

“Interesting,” he says, and then darts his tongue out to lap at the tip, and Connor’s mouth goes slack.

“I would suggest more selenium in your diet,” he says coolly, and Connor can’t hold back his laughter anymore. He pushes himself up and yanks Hank up into a deep kiss, clinging to him like a lifeline. He wants to feel Hank against him, his solid weight and broad chest pressed close, wants Hank to wrap his arms around him and hold him tight.

Instead Hank growls and pries Connor off him, pinning him back down on the mattress.

“I told you to follow my orders,” Hank rumbles, face inches from Connor’s, his gut pressing down on Connor’s stomach. “Do I have to restrain you.”

Connor’s circuits do a few frantic laps as he tries to settle between yelling “Yes, yes!” and letting Hank lead the show.

“No, sir,” he manages to groan out. He doesn’t miss the way Hank’s fingers tighten around his wrists at the honorific.

“Good boy,” Hank says, and Connor bites back a whimper.

“Christ,” Hank murmurs, and then he shuffles back on the bed and grasps Connor’s hips, yanking him down the mattress and dragging a startled yell out of him.

“You’re behaving so well for me, Detective,” Hank croons, sitting up to shed off his jacket. Connor can’t help but stare at the way the cotton of Hank’s white shirt stretches over his broad shoulders and the swell of his belly, admiring the contrast of how put-together Hank looks to Connor’s increasingly flustered and stuttery energy.

“Perhaps you’ve earned a reward,” Hank muses, beginning to undo his buckle. Connor stares, transfixed, as Hank undoes his trousers and slowly reaches inside his flies and pulls out his cock.

Remembering his role, Connor licks his lips and gives Hank what he hopes comes across as an intimidated look.

“They certainly built you big,” he breathes, and Hank smirks, stroking his hardening cock.

“I’m aware of human limitations,” Hank says evenly, and then leans down, bracketing Connor between his strong arms. “But I’m sure you’ll do just fine, won’t you?”

“I-” Connor stutters, trying to imagine what it’d be like if he was human and confronted with someone as well-endowed as Hank. The first time he’d seen Hank naked his arousal had shot up through the roof, making him jittery and needy for Hank’s touch. His body had adjusted to Hank’s size so easily, his hole leaking slick to prepare himself.

In fact, he can feel the trickle of thirium-based lube trickling out of him and onto the bed sheets, needy and hungry for Hank to fill him up.

“I trust you, you wouldn’t hurt me,” he says softly, cupping Hank’s cheek, brushing a thumb over the fake LED.

“My objective is to keep you safe and well-provided for,” Hank says calmly, but there’s a fire in his eyes that makes Connor’s chest swell.

“How do you want me?” Connor asks, tugging at one loose strand of hair hanging across Hank’s brow.

“This seems to be the optimal position,” Hank muses, lowering himself to lie in the cradle of Connor’s hips. “Perfect opportunity to study your reactions.”

Connor grins and reaches between them, tugging at Hank’s cock. “Come on then, show me how an android fucks.”

Hank lets out a low sound, shifting his hips, and Connor helps guide him in, arching a little at the feeling of Hank’s cockhead pressing against his entrance.

“Oh… You’re so big,” he sighs, and it doesn’t require much acting on his part. He can take Hank easier than a human, but he can still feel the pressure of it, the way his body adjusts and stretches around Hank’s girth.

“I’m not hurting you, am I?” Hank asks, concern on his face, and Connor doesn’t know how he can stay in control like this.

“N-no… A little,” he lies, licking his lips. “But I like it.”

“Fuck,” Hank gasps, emotion bleeding through, and he jerks his hips forwards. Connor cries out, canting his hips down, wanting more of Hank, wanting everything.

“Ah, I’m- I’m going to fuck you now,” Hank stutters, rocking into Connor, beginning a steady rhythm. Connor moans, throwing his head back, and Hank presses his lips to his throat, kissing him, nipping gently with his teeth before lapping at the marks with his tongue. The marks won’t last, as much as Connor sometimes wishes they would. That Hank could leave little calling cards all over his body.

“Is this- ah, satisfying to you, detective?” Hank pants, snapping his hips forward, hitting Connor just so to make his back bow.

“Yes, fuck, yes,” Connor keens, scrabbling to grab Hank’s shirt, clinging on. “More, come on, you heap of plastic, fuck me!”

“A-ah,” Hank says disapprovingly, pausing to take Connor’s wrists in his hands again. “You’re not supposed to exert yourself,” he says, voice a little breathless. He tangles their fingers together and holds Connor’s hands on either side of his head as he begins to move again, his blue eyes locked on Connor’s.

“Hank,” Connor moans, trying to arch up to kiss him. Even with all his strength, he can’t make Hank budge, the weight of Hank holding him down intoxicating to him.

“That’s it, detective, just let go, let me take care of you,” Hank coaxes, picking up pace until he’s rutting into Connor, stretching him wide open, filling him with his cock.

“Hank, Hank, please…” Connor sobs, trying to move his hand but Hank’s got him, Hank’s got him good. Hank’s gut rubs over his cock with each thrust, a tease that isn’t enough.

“I promised to take care of you,” Hank soothes him, but he doesn’t let go, just keeps fucking, his rhythm getting stuttery.

“Fuck, oh, Connor,” he groans, thrusting hard three times and then bury himself inside Connor balls deep. Connor feels Hank shudder, his body slumping down against Connor as he comes deep inside him. Hank rests his brow on Connor’s shoulder, panting hard, his warm breaths puffing across Connor’s skin. His hold on Connor’s hands loosens and Connor wraps his arms around Hank’s broad back.

He holds Hank close, feeling the strong muscles under his shirt and enjoying the pleasant weight of Hank resting on top of him.

After a moment Hank stirs, pressing a kiss to where Connor’s LED is still hidden.

“Now it’s your turn,” he says, pulling slowly out of Connor. A trickle of semen follows, and Connor clenches his hole, wanting to keep it in. He loves having Hank’s come inside him, a part of Hank in his body. It’s the most fulfilling thing he knows.

Hank shifts off the bed and pulls Connor further down until his legs dangle off the mattress, his aching cock on display, hard against his stomach. Connor can’t look away from Hank - even after all this time he reels from his size and strength. Connor will never be built like Hank, and part of him envies him - but there’s something about the way it feels to have Hank envelop him in his arms that makes it worth it.

Hank gazes down at him, standing at the foot of the bed.

“I haven’t done this before,” he says, tone back to pleasant impassiveness, and Connor shivers. “But I’m sure my programming will allow me to adapt quickly.”

And with that he leans over Connor’s hips and takes his cock in his mouth in one go, not bothering to waste time with experimenting.

Connor knows Hank is good at this, loves how much attention Hank pays to his cock when he goes down on him, but this is different. HK-800 is efficient, no-frills, going right to bobbing his head on Connor’s dick, cheeks hollowed as he sucks. Connor stares, wide eyed, at the sight of Hank kneeling between his legs, his hair beginning to fall out of it’s tie, framing his face.

“Hank, I’m-” Connor manages to groan out, reaching down to touch Hank’s hair. Hank hums around his shaft, and Connor shudders, feeling electricity sparking inside him.

“Hank, please, I’m so close, I’m-”

Hank slides two fingers inside his wet hole and crooks them up, and it’s finally too much. Connor comes with a sharp cry, fingers tangling in Hank’s hair as he arches off the bed, muscles coiled tight as he shakes apart.

“Christ,” Hank mutters, and Connor opens his eyes to look at him blearily. Hank looks as much as mess as Connor feels - clothes rumpled, hair half escaped the pony tail, mouth slick with spit and lubricant.

“Of all the things they could make you do, couldn’t they have improved the taste of your spunk?”

Connor laughs, managing to sit up long enough to pull Hank to him and down on the bed. Hank settles on his side, facing Connor, and then pulls the LED off his own temple.

“Damn thing itches,” he grumbles, and tosses it across the room. Then he reaches for Connor and begins to tug the skin tape off.

“There. Back to ourselves,” he says, satisfied, and brushes his fingers fondly over Connor’s LED. Connor grins at him, reaching to take his hand.

“Do you think we can bring HK-800 out some other time?” He asks shyly. Hank purses his lips, staring at him for a moment.

“You really like him that much?” He asks. Connor thinks he hears something vulnerable in his tone, and rushes to explain.

“I like how confident he is. I’ve never seen you like that,” he says gently. “I wish you’d show that side more often.”

Hank rolls onto his back, pulling his hair open and running his hand through it. He puffs out a breath and lays there, staring at the ceiling.

“It did feel good. When I was younger, I was… I didn’t look like this,” he says, resting his hand on his stomach. “Had the ego to match,” he adds, huffing out a laugh.

Connor moves onto his side and shifts close, pressed up against Hank.

“But I like you like this. I’m very attracted to you,” he says earnestly. Hank gives him a lopsided smile.

“I’d hope so, considering everything we’ve done,” he jokes. Connor lets out a frustrated sound, sitting up and gazing down at Hank.

“I mean it. I like the loud shirts and the hair, but it feels like you’re hiding yourself behind them, and I…” He hesitates, pressing his palm on Hank’s thick biceps. “I’d like for you to see what I see,” he says softly.

Hank stares at him, mouth parted in something akin to shock.

“Christ,” he says finally, pulling Connor down and on top of him. “How the fuck are you more eloquent than an actual human?”

Connor huffs, nuzzling against Hank’s chest. He begins to play with the plain white buttons of Hank’s shirt, undoing them one at a time until he can slide a hand inside and touch the wiry hairs on Hank’s broad chest.

“Will you wear your hair like that again?”

Hank lays a hand on Connor’s head, stroking absently.

“If you’d like. Sure, I’ll do it.”

“And a suit?”

“Anything for you.”

Connor smiles, throwing an arm around Hank’s midsection, squeezing lightly.

“Did you like human Connor?” He asks. Hank’s voice, when he replies, rumbles pleasantly through his chest.

“Mm, he’s alright. A little cocky. Perhaps he needs his android to knock him down a peg or two.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d only enjoy that,” Connor grins, thinking of what Detective Connor could push HK-800 to do.

“You’re a goddamn menace,” Hank grunts, pulling him tighter against him.

Connor hums in agreement. They lay in silence, Connor listening to Hank’s pulse evening out.

“Do you ever think-” he starts, and then pauses, trying to form his thoughts into a coherent sentence. Hank squeezes him in acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything.

“Maybe… I could really be Detective Anderson,” Connor says, feeling cautious - and hopeful. He feels like there are butterflies fluttering in his chassis.

“What, get rid of the LED for good?” Hank asks, and Connor can hear the frown in his voice.

“No,” he laughs. “I meant… If I took your la- last name.”

Hank doesn’t reply. Worried, Connor lifts his head, trying to gauge the look on Hank’s face. Flabbergasted is the word that comes to mind.

“Are you proposing to me?” Hank asks, voice a little weak.

“No! Or-” Connor stops. Isn’t that what he’s suggesting? Or whatever symbolic equivalent exists, until androids can legally wed humans.

“Maybe I am. How would that make you feel?”

Hank regards him thoughtfully, a slight smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. Then he lifts a hand to touch Connor’s cheek, a tender brush of his palm.

“I think you’d be crazy, but I also know you’re stubborn, and God help anyone who comes between you and what you want.”

“So then… Yes?”

Hank grins, the gap between his teeth on display.

“Ya think I’m dumb enough to say no to someone like you?” He says, sliding his hand to cup the back of Connor’s neck. “Come here,” he coaxes, and Connor goes, feeling like his thirium pump is about to burst. Hank wraps his arms around him and hugs him close, pulling him into a kiss so deep Connor could drown in his love.

When Hank is asleep, Connor thinks about how Hank will look in a black tux, a gold wedding band glinting on his finger.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on:  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/SynTurtle)  
> [Tumblr.](http://roomfullofcunts.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
